


Still Counting

by vicaniyun



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Angst, Canon Timeline, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Romance, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 16:32:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,978
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vicaniyun/pseuds/vicaniyun
Summary: Kris may have left EXO, but Junmyeon's love for him never changed.





	Still Counting

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Thank you to the mods for hosting another round and for their patience, and for the friend who gave me some help along the way. And of course, thank you to anyone who reads this! Hope you like it.
> 
> Note: small warning for some depictions of bloodshed
> 
> Prompt #80

He could not remember when this had become his nightly ritual.

Junmyeon’s hands were clammy as he clamped them down along the smooth curves of the bathroom sink. He hunched over further, feeling that familiar ache intensify deep within his chest. His condition was severe on its own, but it always, for reasons unknown to him, magnified at night.

Lately, it was getting increasingly difficult to keep it all a secret. Junmyeon still had yet to tell anyone. No one needed to know; his problems would merely burden others. He was thankful that the others didn’t have an early schedule in the morning. It left the remaining members awake, and Junmyeon, if he listened hard enough, could hear the mixed sounds of the television and chattering voices.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror. His face was ashen white and decorated with a sheen of sweat. It was a distraction that lasted only a moment because the next thing he knew, the coughing started. He bowed his head above the sink and just let himself cough, knowing that if he tried to fight it, it would only make matters worse. He tried to keep the noise down, not wanting to expose his condition to any prying ears. It was why he always ran the shower at these moments too, for additional noise, to muffle his coughing spells, just in case. He was trying not to make the other men suspicious, but Junmyeon knew if he stayed locked in the bathroom like this for too long, the others were going to wonder.

Thankfully, it never seemed to take long.

His coughs grew deeper and thicker for a moment, resonating from deep within his chest. It almost sounded as if he was sick, and he _was_ , but not the type of illness like bronchitis. He partially wished it was, because at least then, it’d be less trouble, and easier to fix.

He choked briefly, that familiar scratch clawing up the back of his throat, before Junmyeon opened his mouth, and coughed as hard as his lungs let him. His vision blurred as he spat, and he squeezed his eyes shut, continuing to cough as he struggled to collect himself. It _hurt_ , much more painful now than when these episodes first started. It felt like someone was stabbing him right in the chest, a knife dragging through his skin, fire burning through his throat, and nowadays, he always choked when it all came up to the surface.

It, being the mixture of red and white petals that stared back at him as Junmyeon coughed them up into the bathroom sink.

The spell lasted a few minutes. After it was finally over, Junmyeon, with wobbly legs, sank down onto the closed lid of the toilet, gasping for breath. He listened to the sound of water splashing against the floor of the shower as he began to wipe his face with a towel, patting away the sweat as he worked on regaining all his lost oxygen. It was always so hard on his system, having these episodes, each one seeming more intense and agonizing than the last.

These days, he just wanted it to stop.

After the world finally stopped spinning and he could breathe somewhat normally again, Junmyeon forced himself to stand up, to begin cleaning up his mess. Still, his breathing pattern was off, and rattling. He hadn’t been ‘normal’ in ages, and Junmyeon wasn’t sure if he would ever be ‘normal’ again.

That thought was only confirmed as he stared down into the sink. It was a ritual, cleaning up his mess; he did it every day, multiple times a day. He had grown accustomed to seeing a mixture of flower petals decorating whatever surface he had coughed into at the time. And yet, this time, it was different.

Junmyeon had never seen blood on the petals before.

It scared him, of course. It was a different step in the routine he had grown so accustomed to performing, and his sweaty palms felt, somehow, cold with anxiety and fear as he cleaned up his mess. The evidence was disposed of, shower shut off, his body taking refuge atop of the closed lid of the toilet for a few minutes longer to try to regain his lost breath and regain his senses.

Even if it did scare him, it didn’t frighten him enough to tell anyone.

He eventually shuffled down the hall and holed himself up in his room, attempting to find some much-needed sleep, though it was always hard to come by.

It wasn’t like Junmyeon was ignorant about the situation. On the contrary, actually; he had spent countless hours upon hours researching his condition, trying to solve the puzzle on his own. Dragging in any outside help would be a last resort.

It would be a little pointless to do so regardless, as there was only one person who could cure him.

In a way, it was like a secondary blow. It wasn’t enough that he was ill, apparently. The fact that one man had caused him to develop this disease and that he was also the only cure was such a hard pill to swallow.

Junmyeon didn’t have very high hopes of ever being healthy again.

He sighed, stretched out upon his back in his bed. It was the middle of the night and the dorm was at last quieting somewhat. It was never silent with so many people in one household, a whirlwind of conflicting schedules. He had grown accustomed to it, of being kept awake after dark, being tired the morning after.

His life was a routine, despite his health deteriorating. He found himself silently withering away as life marched onward, a blur of days upon weeks peppered with cramped schedules, secretly decorated with him coughing up handfuls of flower petals behind closed doors.

Junmyeon closed his eyes, trying to will his tired mind to fall asleep. He attempted to sigh, but it only left him wheezing, the urge to cough clawing its way up the back of his throat. In the darkness of his room, Junmyeon slid further down the mattress, pulling the blanket over his head.

His name was Kim Junmyeon, and he had the hanahaki disease.

\--

It wasn’t like Junmyeon was ignorant about the situation. On the contrary, actually; he had spent countless hours upon hours researching his condition, trying to solve the puzzle on his own time. Dragging in any outside help would be an absolutely last resort.

It would be a little pointless to do so regardless, in his eyes, as there was only one person who could cure him.

In a way, it was like a secondary blow. It wasn’t enough that he was ill, apparently. The fact that one man had caused him to develop this disease and that he was also the only cure was such a hard pill to swallow.

Junmyeon had researched his condition thoroughly, but no matter how deep he dug, he could never find a source telling him how he developed his disease. Sure, he was fully aware of the fact that he had come down with the illness due to unrequited love…but Junmyeon did not know how or why things had spiraled like this. The science behind the condition was still highly unknown and mostly unheard of, so why was he chosen to suffer? Why was it that so many people didn’t have their love returned, but he was the one to develop this sickness? How was that fair?

Perhaps it was because his heart was just too attached.

Whether he fully understood the background details or not, it didn’t change the facts. Despite a large portion of mystery shrouded around the illness, Junmyeon had still managed to dig up some information. Caused by an unrequited love, the victim begins to undergo an unwanted and painful internal transformation. The main symptom of the condition was to throw up flower petals, produced by a plant that had managed to develop within the lungs. The longer the illness progressed, the worse it would become.

Junmyeon knew he was one of those with a highly progressed illness. The petals he coughed up were coming more and more frequently, not to mention now decorated with blood. The plant that was growing in his chest cavity must have taken root.

It was like a further slap in the face, knowing he was so far gone with seemingly no way out, because at the end of the day, Junmyeon knew the one he had fallen for would not love him back.

He hates remembering. And yet, more often than not, his brain wouldn’t allow him to forget.

There was a soft clinking noise within the dining area of the dorm as his spoon collided with the inner rim of the bowl. Junmyeon continued to stir his food around with disinterest, knowing he needed to eat, but he didn’t _feel_ like it. He didn’t see much pleasure it in anyway; how could he enjoy his meal when everything he ate was beginning to taste the same?

“Does it not taste good?” A voice sounded from within the dorm. Junmyeon glanced up from his bowl to find Kyungsoo standing in the kitchen, watching him with round, concerned eyes. “You’ve barely touched it. Do you want me to make you something else?”

Junmyeon shook his head. “It’s fine, Kyungsoo.”

The younger male frowned, eyebrows furrowing together with suspicion. “Are you sure?”

The smile that crossed Junmyeon’s lips was forced and tasted like copper. “Positive. I just have a lot on my mind, that’s all.”

It was enough of a satisfactory answer and Kyungsoo merely sighed as he continued puttering around inside the kitchen. “Lately all you’ve been doing is picking at your meals. You really need to eat more.”

Silence proceeded to fall over the room. The dorm remained quiet within the hours of early dawn. Junmyeon paid no mind to the faint clinking of porcelain as Kyungsoo continued tinkering with the dishes.

Junmyeon merely kept his head down, one hand moving in slow, uninterested circles, aimlessly stirring his food around as he scrolled through his phone with the assistance of his free hand.

It seemed like every headline was the same. _‘Kris Wu signs historical deal with Universal Music Group’,_ his phone mirrored at him, article after article, and something akin to bitterness lit itself in Junmyeon’s heart.

Perhaps this time he had read the contract more thoroughly.

He forced himself to stand, ignoring the way his vision spun, hearing the chair make an ugly scraping sound across the floor as he did so. Kyungsoo’s eyes were wide with a mixture of confusion and concern as Junmyeon unceremoniously dumped his bowl onto the countertop, before making a beeline across the dorm.

Kyungsoo merely sighed as he watched him go, collecting the bowl to begin cleaning it.

\--

Junmyeon couldn’t remember the last time the world didn’t feel fuzzy.

The world around him constantly felt like it was moving too fast, his life draining away before his very eyes. The days blurred together, weeks and months muddled in his brain, his muscles aching under the pressure and stress of a fast-paced life. It had been easier, once upon a time, when he had another pair of shoulders to help carry the weight, but not anymore. The lines between work grew fuzzier and it was becoming harder and harder to ground himself.

And it was getting harder to hide his condition.

Somewhere down the road – Junmyeon couldn’t remember the specifics, he could barely remember what day it was – his control began to slip. There he was, on a stage, plunged into his musical role as deeply as he could get, and it struck him. He tried to swallow it down, the itch in his throat, the pain in his chest, but to no avail. He couldn’t stop himself from coughing during his performance, though he found himself mentally praising what little luck he had over the fact that he didn’t end up spewing out petals for the entire world to see.

The coughing alone drew enough attention; it wasn’t hard to miss the way the internet came abuzz with talk regarding it. Get more rest, they said, I think he’s sick, they said, and that in itself wasn’t a perfect description, but it was close enough.

Still, it felt…untrue. Didn’t sick mean curable? He was a lost cause and nothing more. Perhaps a term like ‘terminally ill’ would be a better label to plaster across him.

But, either way, it didn’t matter, little things like that. Nothing truly mattered, right? The world kept turning, life went on, and Junmyeon continued to watch himself deteriorate.

It was almost ironic, the way the art around him began to mimic his life. He often thought about the flowers that had been painted on his face for _Electric Kiss_ , the new title track of his members’ sub-unit group appropriately named ‘ _Blooming Day’._

A portion of him wanted to feel offended, that life seemed to be mocking him, but his skin was thicker than that. It had to be, if he wanted to make it through the life of an idol in one piece.

People in his personal space, words in his mouth that he never meant, being glossed over like he merely didn’t exist more times than he could count anymore. It used to bother him, always getting the short end of the stick, stuck in the shadows of his bandmates, but he came to realize long ago that he had to make sacrifices. He was a leader; he had to do what was necessary in order to keep his group together, to keep them going in such a dog-eat-dog world.

Still, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. He was only human after all; he craved to be just as recognized and loved as everyone else. But, perhaps his prayers just weren’t meant to be answered. It wasn’t fair, having his work ignored, his array of music and films and performances all seeming drowned out by the work of those around him.

It almost made him grateful to see his body changing. He was getting skinnier. Eating was becoming a chore, as even the tiniest swallow was enough to send pins and needles of pain running down his throat, thanks to the plant taking refuge in his lungs. Maybe if he changed enough, the fake attention would eventually cease; maybe someday he wouldn’t only be noticed due to his abs or how much money he supposedly had in his bank account.

Despite it, his ongoing struggle with swallowing was making it harder and harder to maintain the mirage that there was nothing wrong in his life. He was grateful to be given a cake on his birthday, but eating it was almost torturous, that familiar stab and searing fire in his throat tempting to just give up and spit it out, but… It would raise too many red flags.

So he suffered through it, that same smile full of too many teeth plastered across his face. It felt so unnatural to smile lately. Plastic and fake and forced and unreal. Why did he continue to make himself carry on this façade as if nothing in such a large world bothered him at all?

It felt more real to let it slip away, like it did that evening when his phone began to quietly vibrate atop of the nightstand in his room. He had already showered and Junmyeon took a peek at the screen. An international number.

_I’m getting a phone call. It’s international._

His past voice echoed in his head. Junmyeon had to admit he had the number memorized, always had. An international number, belonging to the one man his heart continued to cling to, no matter the time or distance between them.

Junmyeon attempted to brace himself. He was already sitting down on the edge of his bed, phone in his hand, running through a variety of pep talks mentally as he tried to steel himself for what was to come.

It didn’t matter though; he was never fully prepared, and never would be, no matter what he did.

“Hello?” he didn’t intend for his voice to come out the way it did, so hoarse, so feeble, so _weak._

_“Hey_ ,” came that voice that Junmyeon had never forgotten, just as deep as he remembered. As if on reflex, he felt the hot sting of tears collecting along the rims of his eyes. “ _Happy birthday… It’s been a while. I messaged you a while back but you didn’t reply_.”

“Thanks,” was all Junmyeon could muster, his voice a mere croak in the back of his aching throat.

A hum. “ _Are you not well? You sound…odd_.”

“I’m fine,” Junmyeon mumbled, lying through his teeth, just like he always did. He was shaking and he couldn’t control it, couldn’t halt the way his fingers trembled and struggled to hold his phone properly.

“ _Are you sure_?” came the response, and Junmyeon bit his lip. He could taste the copper of blood that tainted the skin, leftover from his nightly ritual of coughing alone in an empty bathroom. He closed his eyes. He was fake, a liar, and Junmyeon knew how much the other man hated— “ _You should get some more rest. Are you about to sleep? I can let you go if y_ —”

“No,” Junmyeon blurted, much too quickly, almost as if he was begging. “It’s—It’s okay. I’m awake.”

“ _Well, that’s a relief… I’ve been wanting to talk to you, but we’re both so busy all the time_.” A soft sigh in his ear. “ _I miss you, Junmyeon_.”

Junmyeon choked on a sob. Hot tears began to plop down his cheeks almost instantly, his throat bobbing pathetically as he struggled to keep his composure intact.

“I miss you too, Kris.”

\--

Wu Yifan was potentially Junmyeon’s biggest regret, and yet, someone who was also one of his fondest memories.

Junmyeon could remember it all like it had been yesterday. He had already sacrificed three years to training when Yifan came stumbling into his life. Kris, he insisted to be called, and the name immediately stuck like glue in Junmyeon’s mouth.

2008 was not only the year he met Kris, but was the year that marked his downfall into unrequited love.

Kris was…interesting. He hadn’t bothered to chop off his hair. He was thin, his shoulders wide but boney and joints curved; the sharpness of his knees were practically like knives. It fascinated him, in a way he initially found only observational. Kris’ body was nothing like his, and neither was his height, his legs long and granting him many centimeters past the top of Junmyeon’s head.

Kris was a newfound oddity in Junmyeon’s life back then, but Junmyeon welcomed his presence completely, messy hair and denim jackets and everything in between.

His fate was sealed from day one.

\--

Junmyeon’s mind, long ago, could map dates and details with pinpoint precision. In his current age and position, it was harder, almost impossible. Days jumbled together, schedules mixed, times blurred.

Perhaps what was the most unfair was that he could still remember every moment he shared with Kris, down to the exact day. Why was it that no matter how hard he tried to forget, he couldn’t?

On the plus side, at least they weren’t horrible memories. They were memories quite dear to Junmyeon’s heart, that he was still fond of, no matter how long ago they were.

A part of him, deep inside, would give anything to go back to those simpler times.

Despite the pressures and stress that came with training for the entertainment industry, it was a simpler time for Junmyeon back then. A time of not only getting to know himself and grow more comfortable inside his own skin, but to become more familiar with his slowly growing list of band members.

But… Trying to learn more about Kris wasn’t a particularly difficult or uncomfortable experience. They clicked together well. Despite his cold appearance and sharp eyes, Kris was quite warm on the inside, a sharp contrast of winter versus summer.

Some days were hard, sure; some days he felt it creep up on him, wondering if he would ever receive the chance to debut, wondering if all his work so far would have been for nothing…

But some days were good. Junmyeon could recall grueling summer days broken up into brief periods of relaxation when he and Kris had a meal together. Samgyetang, that had been a common one, and Junmyeon could still remember the way Kris held a spoon, the peculiar technique he used to balance chopsticks between his fingers, the appearance of his face whenever he ate, the smile on his lips when they talked.

He hadn’t seen that smile in person in such a long time, but it was Junmyeon’s favorite, and burned into his memory forever.

Kris was, in a way, a shoulder for him to lean on, one that Junmyeon appreciated. They were going to lead together. Together, they could handle anything, Junmyeon told himself, unable to keep the smile off of his face as their group’s debut date was finally set in stone.

So was his fate, but Junmyeon didn’t realize it back then, high on excitement, and losing himself in one of Kris’ rare smiles that stretched his cheeks and showed off the gums hiding behind his lips.

Somewhere along the course of the past four years, Junmyeon had fallen in love with that smile.

\--

Junmyeon could remember the nearly overwhelming anxiety inside him as he stood upon the stage for their debut showcase. It was reality then; they had yet to officially debut, but there he was, with all eleven other members. It was an introduction as to what was to come along the road. It was only the beginning. In the future, there would be more stages to stand upon as a whole and a larger assembly of fans, and it felt like a dream. This was what he had been working so hard for, and he didn’t want to screw it up, so of _course_ he was nervous.

He could remember his own occasional stuttering as Leeteuk asked him questions, the insane racing of his heart, wondering if he was actually awake. Listening to Leeteuk speak, and then, suddenly, the sound of cheering blending in with his voice. Junmyeon could remember how confused they all were for a moment, he and his members, an assembly of turning heads. And there was Kris, walking behind them, lugging a chair across the stage to offer him a seat.

Junmyeon couldn’t help but feel proud.

And Junmyeon couldn’t help but feel comfortable around Kris; his presence was oddly soothing and his arms were another story altogether. He could still recall that one fateful hug in the summer. He could remember it with pinpoint perfection, posing for that fateful picture to be posted in a Weibo update for _Happy Camp_. An arm around Kris’ neck – his hair had been blond then – and Kris’ arms locked around his waist. It lit a fire under Junmyeon’s skin, feeling Kris’ hands on him back then, feeling the curve of his fingertips pressing deep into his side and it felt so _possessive_ and he guiltily enjoyed every second of it.

He enjoyed every second of them _together_. He loved their brief periods of playful harmless teasing, like the time they had been celebrating their one hundredth day as a group at a fan event and bickered about who should go first. He loved their closeness, even in the smallest of instances. He could still recall how right it felt to be at Kris’ side, even overseas in Thailand. It wasn’t just during the _Tonight Thailand_ recording, or their mini live show. It was the little things, like that one fateful day in the hotel lobby. It felt too perfect, Kris waiting for him before they walked in together, Kris’ arm playfully slung around his neck and nestled atop of his shoulders.

Playful. That was a good term for Kris back then. _S.M.ART Exhibition_ was quick to come to his mind. The crowded chaotic karaoke room. Kris smoothing down his eyebrows in front of the camera. The two of them standing in the back, and sure, it had been hard to see him, because Junmyeon was not a tall man. But it had been worth it. He could recall the way he swung his arms above his head, like a wave, and it wasn’t long after that Kris’ hand shackled around his own to lower his limbs. Junmyeon using the back of his hand to cover Kris’ eyes, and Kris’ responding glare that meant absolutely nothing in Junmyeon’s eyes, because he had already long known that Kris’ heart was warm.

He was so warm. Warm like his body, during that hug in Korea at a mini fan meeting, Junmyeon’s hands splayed across his back and his face stretched with a smile and Kris’ neck feeling so much like home as it pressed against his cheek. Those warm shoulders that Junmyeon clung to and those warm hands that held out a camera during the _exhibition_ to take Junmyeon’s photo.

Warm like his breath, ghosting over the shell of Junmyeon’s ear to whisper to him as they sat in the crowd within Beijing at the rookies celebration.

It felt so right, back then, the relationship between the two of them. He could still remember sending a message to Kris during the Sina interview, saying they could eat together once they met again. Traveling together. Jakarta, for SM Town. Hong Kong, for _MAMA._ Airports, and Kris’ protection. The crowds always seemed so thick and wild, but Kris was there, his shield, his guide, to help him through it.

It felt so right, back then, to have Kris touching him, like those airport days, when Kris grabbed his forearm so they could go backstage after the _SM Town_ Singapore performance, when Kris whispered into his ear and draped his arm over his shoulder during _SBS Gayo Daejun._

It had been so right, _back then_ , because 2012 was long gone.

\--

It had already been four years since Kris made his departure. Junmyeon didn’t want to admit it, but when Kris left, a chunk of his heart went with him. They still tried to keep in contact; Kris had already laid it on the line that there were no hard feelings between them, that the issue at hand was between him and management. Junmyeon wanted to be relieved by that statement, but did it really even matter at the end of the day? Kris was still gone and there was no going back. They couldn’t see each other anymore and the way they occasionally exchanged texts through their messaging app didn’t fill the void.

Part of him wondered why he kept doing this to himself, torturing himself, allowing himself to be tugged along. He wouldn’t be able to see Kris anymore and Kris didn’t love him back, so why did he keep chatting with him and prolonging the agony?

Perhaps…letting him go entirely was a scarier concept.

He wanted to laugh. Why was he so scared to let go when he had no chance? He had known for years now that he had no opportunity for Kris to love him back, but here he was, four years after he was gone and still head over heels in love with him.

It wasn’t like Kris even knew. Junmyeon had never told him. The words ‘I’m in love with you’ had been stuck in his throat for what felt like an eternity, but Junmyeon never released them, knowing the risks wouldn’t be worth it. Was it worth possibly destroying their friendship, his reputation, his career, his life?

There was no point regardless when Kris wasn’t even interested.

Tears stung his eyes as Junmyeon’s back arched a little more, the sound of his hacking echoing in the empty bathroom.

_I like girls who are pure and good._

Kris’ voice echoed in his head and his coughing grew louder and for a moment, he was choking. His sweaty palms tightly gripped the edges of the sink and he couldn’t breathe, desperately trying to suck some air into his overworked lungs. One more cough and he could barely feel the oxygen that finally passed through his throat, drowned out by the stinging taste of copper that filled his mouth.

_I didn’t have many friends when I was in Korea._

The world spun and his stomach churned. Junmyeon’s hands tightened around the sink and he took a moment to focus on breathing. His breath was coming in rough pants and at last his vision became stable enough for him to take a glance at the mess he had made. There was sweat running down his neck, the arch of his spine, and handfuls of flower petals splashed with blood stared up at him.

He closed his eyes and released a shaky exhale before allowing his trembling legs to guide him to the toilet, sinking down upon its closed lid as he buried his face in his hands.

The symptoms always seemed worse whenever he re-established contact with Kris. Sure, lately it was overall getting worse, but that was one of the worst spells he had ever experienced, and his phone call with Kris had only been three days ago.

His heart throbbed with longing and he wished he could, just once, speak to Kris face to face again.

He had cried on the phone when Kris called him for his birthday. Of course Kris overheard him; and the next thing he knew, Kris’ voice was fussing in his ear, asking him what was wrong.

_“Junmyeon?” He hated how perfect his name sounded on Kris’ tongue. “Are- Are you crying? What’s the matter?”_

_“Nothing,” Junmyeon mumbled, pathetically mopping the tears from his face with the assistance of his palm. “I just… God, I miss you.”_

_It was a partial truth._

_“I miss you too,” Kris murmured, “but c’mon, I’m not worth crying over, okay? It’s your birthday, be happy. I don’t want one of my closest friends being upset.”_

Of course… He was only a friend. Always had been, always would be, and Junmyeon never dared to breathe out his secret, because there would be no point.

Wiping his wet palms on the knees of his pants, Junmyeon stood up, intending to clean up his mess.

He’d dispose of the evidence like he always did.

\--

_I ain’t never seen a girl like that, tell me if we take a chance like that—_

It was horribly masochistic, now that Junmyeon thought about it, listening to Kris’ music. But he was curious and nosy and even if he didn’t want to know what sort of media Kris was producing lately, the incessant headlines would tell him anyway.

_Got me spendin’ all my cash like that, keep on doin’ what I like, like that—_

Junmyeon rested his head against the window and sighed softly. Of course, it wasn’t like he could forget. Kris was doing what he enjoyed now, Kris was happy now… Had Kris ever been happy around him, or was that all a front?

_Oh, all the time, oh, you on my mind—_

It hit too close to home, and Junmyeon’s thumb immediately smashed against the screen of his phone in an attempt of hitting pause. His free hand was already tugging out his headphones.

Sehun, sitting in the seat beside him in the crowded van, gave him a worried glance that Junmyeon blatantly ignored. He instead chose to keep his eyes downcast and focus on the way he wrapped the cord of his headphones around his cell phone. Around, and around, and around…

His skull throbbed and he swallowed down the taste of copper, trying to clear his mind, knowing he needed to focus. They’d be at the recording studio in a few minutes, and he couldn’t allow his thoughts of Kris to ruin the preparations for their comeback.

\--

He was dizzy. The waxed floor squeaked underneath his sneakers and he could feel sweat beginning to soak the neckline of his old t-shirt. It felt so hard to breathe, but he had to keep going, he had to practice. It was third quarter, which meant they were finally due for a comeback. He couldn’t afford to fall behind, couldn’t – wouldn’t – allow himself to be the weakest link.

“Junmyeon.” The voice sounded so garbled in his ears, drowned out by the sound of ringing. He could barely feel Jongdae’s hand on his back, could hardly recognize his upturned eyebrows. “Take a break. You don’t look so good.”

He didn’t have the capacity to argue. His stomach was rolling as if he was about to be sick and there wasn’t enough oxygen in his lungs for him to talk. He bent himself in half and gasped for air.

But it felt like nothing was coming and he suddenly realized he wasn’t able to breathe.

It was like that moment in the bathroom. Panic surged through his veins, not because he was suddenly choking, but he knew this meant he couldn’t hide anymore. The coughing was rearing its head and Junmyeon accepted it, desperate to hack his lungs out if it meant he could finally _breathe._

He coughed into his hands. There was blood on his palms and screaming in his ears. The world tilted in tune with his coughing and Junmyeon wasn’t sure if he had ever felt so much pain in his entire life. Sharp, stabbing pains in his ribcage, fire in his throat, and as he hunched into himself, it all unraveled.

A mess of flower petals mixed with clots of blood, on his hands, on the waxed dance room floor, on the toes of his white sneakers.

The world spun twice more and plunged into total darkness.

\--

Junmyeon wondered if being a singer would still be his desired choice in another life.

And sometimes, he wondered if Kris felt the same. Kris was the first to break off from their group after all, and even before his official departure, Junmyeon could remember the days where his presence seemed to vanish into smoke. There were instances where all of their members had been seen in public, sans Kris, and Junmyeon could remember the way that social media became abuzz with rumors and conspiracy theories, wondering where he had gone.

That had been 2013, and maybe Junmyeon was a fool for thinking he would stay.

It was a year of so many ups and downs and it was such a roller coaster in Junmyeon’s life. Sure, he had made plenty of good memories from that time, an assortment of achievements and newly made historical moments, but that was also when his life slowly began to fall apart.

At some point during those winter months when Kris was absent, Junmyeon experienced his first episode of coughing up the petals.

Initially, it sent him spiraling into panic. And of course, he wanted to talk to Kris about it. How could he _not_ want to when Kris was his biggest shoulder to lean on, his most reliable crutch? But no, he couldn’t, not right then, not when Kris was away and busy and leaving a weird little part of Junmyeon’s heart tingly and empty.

So he researched it on his own and at the end of the day when it all sunk into his tired mind and achy bones, he cried, realizing what the condition truly meant, understanding how deep he really was, and that there was really no way out.

At least Kris came back. Even though Junmyeon was thankful that he hadn’t bothered Kris with his issue, and that he came back into his life after a time away that was much too long, there was that odd nagging feeling in the back of his head that reminded him of the new weight he was carrying. His relationship with Kris was now a dangerous one, because Junmyeon was in love with him. He had been for god knows how long by then, but he was in too deep and couldn’t claw his way out even if he wanted to.

And his body seemed to understand it.

But Junmyeon didn’t dwell upon it too much. When Kris came crashing back into his life, it, for a while, seemed like all his problems disappeared. Junmyeon told himself many times that perhaps his condition simply went away, ignoring the fact that the only cure was for Kris to love him back, which was still an unfortunate false truth in his life. Kris didn’t love him and if he was to make a ballpark guess, his disease simply chose to go dormant since Kris was at his side.

Junmyeon blocked it off from his mind the best he could and continued on with his life.

He was a busy man after all. Well, not that he really minded. Being busy meant he had less time to worry and fuss over what weird changes his body was undergoing and instead focus on the tasks at hand. Not everything was such a grueling, tedious task either. Some things were fun and lighthearted and Junmyeon welcomed them with open arms.

Like Sehun’s birthday event, for example. Kris loved to tease him over his height and then was no exception. There was the way Kris mentioned that Sehun can grow as tall as him, and of course, the trap that Junmyeon walked into.

_“What about me?” he had asked, and Kris took one look at him, those eyes seeming to pierce him down the bone._

_“I don’t think so.”_

But Junmyeon didn’t really mind the teasing. It was their dynamic, nothing but playfulness between the two of them. It was for the same reason that he complained about Kris standing beside him; not that it really mattered, because even when Kris sank into a chair, there wasn’t much difference in height.

Still, despite it all, their occasional bickering and petty arguments, Junmyeon could tell Kris cared about him. He could still feel the ghosting sensation of Kris’ arms around his shoulders, protecting him from a swarm of fangirls.

Sometimes it felt so perfect, but nothing in the entire world was able to stop his heart like their time on _Sukira._

_“Kris, if I’m EXO’s mother, you’re the dad, right?”_

There was roaring laughter, which Junmyeon had been anticipating.

_“Always fighting, bro.”_

Kris’ reply, however, he hadn’t been.

_“Bro, yes, fighting.”_

It made Junmyeon’s heart stop for a moment, because maybe, just maybe—

_“I love you.” Junmyeon laid it all out on the table with those three little words._

_And Kris’s responding ‘I love you’ made Junmyeon’s heart stop entirely._

But, there was a saying, where if it felt too good to be true, then it probably was. For a brief time, Junmyeon was on cloud nine, wondering if he had finally obtained the love he had been needing and craving all this time.

He threw up flower petals in the dorm bathroom that night and his heart sank, understanding right then that Kris’ love was not on the same level as his own, instead laced with nothing more than platonic feelings while Junmyeon’s had always been romantic.

It broke his heart, of _course_ it did, realizing the truth, but he couldn’t – wouldn’t – allow it to ruin his life. He had to keep moving. He had to keep working. He had to carry on.

But at least… Kris was still there with him.

He honestly didn’t know what he would do _without_ Kris. There were some moments in his life where he wasn’t sure if he would have gotten out in one piece if it wasn’t for Kris, like their second appearance on _Happy Camp._ Kris encouraging him to do that trust fall that Junmyeon had been so terrified of and even going the extra mile to check the structure of their members’ extended arms to ensure they would be able to catch and support Junmyeon’s weight.

It was something so small, but meant so much.

Even if Kris didn’t feel the same way as Junmyeon felt about him, it was as if the universe kept feeding him a concept that they simply belonged together. Junmyeon lost count of how many times the mother and father topic came up again in conversation, not to mention the way Kris claimed during an interview that Junmyeon dumping him was the reason they weren’t sitting together.

How could something be so close and yet so far?

Sometimes, he just couldn’t help himself. His brain was at times on overdrive, a mess of thoughts and he became lost within them, detaching himself from the outside world while his body continued to move.

His hands always seemed to find Kris during moments like that.

He could still feel the glide of Kris’ skin, the curve of his arm, the cool metallic of his accessories as Junmyeon traced his fingers over him at a radio show _._

He could still feel the shape of Kris’ muscles underneath his skin, the smooth curve of his neck, the sharp arch of his shoulder blades as he massaged Kris’ shoulders.

He could still feel how warm and soft and perfect Kris’ hand felt against his own as they attended awards shows, ghosting whispers in each other’s ears.

He tried not to think about it all back then. They were all busy. They had a comeback, they had schedules, they had a life of an idol to upkeep.

Not that it mattered. With Kris around, nothing truly changed, and especially not Junmyeon’s feelings toward him.

_“Kris has nothing but height.”_

Their teasing never changed.

_“Even though I’m taller and more handsome, I still love you.”_

And neither did Kris’ feelings, that failed to come up to par with Junmyeon’s own.

In the summer, he found himself overseas. Los Angeles, first. It seemed ironic to him, that he used to mention wanting Kris to teach him English, and there he was, mentioning in English that he wanted to go to Disney Land.

And in the fall, he found himself in Europe.

Their photos in the airport, their time together at the Super Junior concert in London. Junmyeon could never forget that moment in time he stood upon the stage beside Kris, and their fingers intertwined, locking together without the two of them even having to _look._

The very way Kris _looked_ at him at the _MTV EMA_ ceremony in Amsterdam.

How perfect Kris’ arms felt around him as they hugged upon the beach during their filming for _EXO Showtime_ after Kris had run out into the sea.

It all felt _too_ perfect, and Junmyeon wondered, how on earth could he click so well with someone, and not have them as a soulmate.

And for a while, his life felt perfect. He could remember standing on that stage during _MAMA_ as they accepted their first album daesang. There was a complete bombardment of thoughts in his brain right then and he struggled to pick them apart so he could give a proper speech.

One that he didn’t push away was that thought that the sky was truly the limit now. Their group was rising. They could go farther now, they had records to break, things to achieve. Maybe someday, when they were free of schedules and life’s obligations, they could go back overseas.

Little did he know back then that his wish was a reality…only for Kris to head to Los Angeles alone.

\--

He could hear beeping.

Junmyeon’s brow pinched. He felt so heavy and it was such a grueling task to even open his eyes. But after a long struggle, he at last managed to pry them open, momentarily blinded by white light. He closed his eyes again and released a disgruntled noise somewhere in the back of his throat.

_“…eon.”_

It was too bright.

_“…myeon—"_

He didn’t particularly _want_ to wake up.

_“Junmyeon!”_

His eyes opened again and he let out a sound akin to a hiss, one hand raising to fold across the upper portion of his face. The back of his palm rested against the spot between his eyebrows and he squinted pathetically underneath that blinding light.

“Junmyeon, can you hear me?”

He could. Spots danced before his eyes from that light but at least it wasn’t as bright anymore as it was initially. He finally allowed himself to lower his hand. A strange assortment of tubing and cords dragged across his skin and Junmyeon only then allowed himself to survey his surroundings. White curtains and white sheets and white ceilings and—

And a pair of eyes staring at him from across the bed.

“Minseok?” Junmyeon started, his voice a mere croak and he quickly silenced himself at the acidic fire of pain that rocketed through his throat.

“Don’t talk for now. You need to rest,” Minseok told him. His face was clouded over with worry. “Do you remember what happened? You blacked out in the dance studio.”

Neither of them mentioned the elephant in the room.

“How long?” Minseok finally asked, his voice so quiet, nearly drowned out by the repetitive beeping from the heart monitor stationed next to Junmyeon’s bed. “How long have you been sick?”

Junmyeon couldn’t answer. It hurt too much to try to speak. Minseok seemed to immediately recall his condition and corrected himself.

“A long time?” he offered, and Junmyeon nodded, just a little, in agreement. He wasn’t sure of how long anymore, he had stopped counting the days ages ago. But Minseok bit his lip at that response and hesitated, seeming unsure of what to say at first, before he sighed softly, heaving himself to his feet. “I’ll go tell the nurse that you’re finally awake.”

He disappeared behind the thin white curtain, and Junmyeon, not knowing why, felt tears well up in his eyes.

All he knew was that he felt so horribly alone.

\--

Sometimes, Junmyeon looked back at his assigned number with a feeling of nostalgia. He remembered when the simple number one meant _more._ And it seemed like then, all he could hear was Kris’ voice in the back of his head, ghosting whispers mimicking a post on their official board.

_“When we’re together, we’re on full marks.”_

Weren’t they meant to be together?

He had thought so. He had always thought so. But 2014 proved him otherwise and threw it back into Junmyeon’s face that he had no say in the timelines of reality.

Everything felt the same at first. A typical life of an idol, always on the move, packed schedules, a life full of chaos. But it was always the little things that mattered, that grounded him, made him feel human.

Even the tiniest of details, like carrying Kris’ jacket in the airport.

The crisp, sharp air of winter was still in his lungs as they attended award ceremonies. Seoul music awards, Korea entertainment awards, Gaon music awards. They partially began to blur together in Junmyeon’s head because they were only days apart and it was somewhat of a relief to catch a flight to Beijing.

It was even more comforting to have some time with Kris, sharing headphones.

The start of the year felt so much like all the time before it. Junmyeon found himself getting lost in the one-on-one time with Kris. It seemed like they had such a wide variety of activities together that year. The two of them in matching shades of black at the eleventh _KMA._ Their matching suits at the Hallyu star roadshow. It was almost as if the universe was rewarding him for all his silent suffering, because even if Kris didn’t love him back, at least Junmyeon still was able to share activities with him.

And most of them he held near and dear to his heart, like the _Hello Japan_ welcoming party.

_“You took the photo. No, wait, was it me?”_

_“We’re both in the photo!”_

Kris was still the same as he had always been, nothing more than a dorky warm man underneath all that façade of a cold city boy.

After all, an actual cold man wouldn’t bother to do gwiyomi for him, or admit that he’s the cutest.

They belonged together, Junmyeon told himself, and if Kris didn’t love him back, at least they could be together as a group.

So he thought.

He knew. He knew long before the rest of the world knew, that Kris was leaving, cutting himself out and away from their group and the industry. He remembered, with crystal clarity, Kris telling him in private, and he remembered exactly the way his heart broke in his chest hearing it.

Had he tried to stop him, yes, _of course_ he did, but who was he, nothing more than a friend and a coworker, unable to change Kris’ mind. He could remember the late night hours as he gently sat Kris down one last time and felt the pathetic tugging in chest, the feeling of his heart crumbling into little bits and fragmented pieces as he asked Kris one last time to think about it and decide if this was what he truly wanted, that maybe he could stay, maybe they could all work it out together.

It didn’t matter.

Kris’ mind was already made up.

Junmyeon had to let him go. He didn’t want to, but he knew he had no choice. He couldn’t force Kris to stay and he couldn’t force him to change his mind. He couldn’t hold himself back. He couldn’t keep himself away from Kris at the Shanghai showcase. He glued himself to Kris’ side, knowing it was the last time he would ever have the chance to do so. He showered Kris with smiles in hopes that Kris wouldn’t forget the way he looked and gave him playful jabs to his stomach just to get Kris to stare at him so he’d be able to absorb and imprint the way Kris stared at him with those mysterious eyes one final time.

That night, his sickness came back, even worse than before, and Junmyeon found himself dry heaving as petals splashed out between his fingertips.

He cleaned up his appearance. He had been sick for days. His disease was rearing its head now that Kris was away and Junmyeon couldn’t stop and didn’t bother trying to because how could he focus on it when his life was falling apart?

His problems were brushed aside to instead focus on the life of an idol and he clambered onto the stage alone, hands cold as he accepted the award for _M Countdown_ singlehandedly.

His smile felt so plastic and fake and his heart was broken and the award in his hand felt so heavy.

\--

“ _You’re_ dying _!” Minseok screamed at him. “Wake up, Junmyeon! It_ is _a big deal!”_

Junmyeon stared at the ceiling as he remained in his bed. Somewhere beyond the reach of the curtain was the noisiness of the hospital; beeping, yelling, trolley wheels across hard floors. Junmyeon hadn’t obtained even a wink of sleep throughout the duration of the night, even though he knew good and well he needed to.

How could he sleep when he knew he had surgery in the morning?

He felt exhausted but his mind was too awake. His body felt so heavy too; the weight of it all on his shoulders, the weight of the mask on his face to help him breathe, the weight of the plant taking refuge in his chest.

Junmyeon had known, ever since he began researching his condition, that the plant in his chest would grow over time, but he had no idea it could grow so massive.

_The doctor adorned his scans to the wall before him. The room would be overpopulated if his entire group tried to cram themselves inside, and it left several of the boys waiting in the hallway. Minseok joined him inside, as the oldest and as one of his closest friends._

_The black and white and gray scan was tacked to the wall and Junmyeon stared at it, mentally counted the sharp ridges of each of his ribs, before allowing his eyes to trail over the area of his lungs. It was almost as if the inside was dusted with something. Pollen, maybe. It wasn’t as shocking as the noticeable lines decorating the inside of his chest cavity, stalks of a plant crammed within him, roots knotted around his bronchioles, tops adorned with flowers bent in half because his lungs did not provide enough room for it to grow as tall as it wanted._

_It terrified him, seeing the damage, to see what was living inside of him, to know how far his disease had progressed. But he tried to brush it off anyway, his voice hoarse and fading as he tried to say it wasn’t that serious._

_Minseok whirled on him with tears and his eyes and screamed._

Junmyeon closed his eyes and tried to focus on breathing. The ventilator was supposed to help him, because he could barely breathe on his own anymore. That was why he had fainted in the practice room: he hadn’t been getting enough oxygen.

_“I’ve never seen a case like this before,” the doctor said, staring over the rims of her glasses. “You’re lucky to even be alive.”_

He didn’t feel lucky. He felt cursed, doomed; how else did he even wind up in this position, if he was a lucky human being? He clenched his hands, feeling the wetness of tears behind his closed eyelids. He suddenly felt so alone and the space behind the curtain felt too big and he wished someone could be with him right then.

His mind instantly went to Kris, and Junmyeon knew it wasn’t just because his members all had to go home and get some rest and had schedules tomorrow.

Tomorrow… He’d be a completely different person tomorrow. His surgery was tomorrow morning and it would change every bit of him.

_“I still don’t understand why you didn’t speak with a medical professional sooner or inform someone about your condition,” the doctor said. “There would be a much higher chance of a successful treatment plan if you had done so. I think, with a case that’s already so progressed and high-risk, surgical removal is about the only option you have left.”_

He didn’t want surgery.

_“Our team will put you to sleep before the procedure, and we’ll work on removing the plant. It’s going to be a risky operation; it’s rooted so deeply that it may not even be successful.”_

_“And if it is?” Minseok asked, standing alongside Junmyeon in the dim room, his body scans still looming on the wall across from them._

_The doctor flicked on the lights. “Then he’ll be cured and will be able to continue life as normal. There are, however…some potential side effects. And with a case this severe, the risk for those unintended afflictions increases. For example, removing the plant may not just eliminate the person’s feelings… They may forget the other party entirely.”_

He didn’t want to forget.

His heart clenched in panic and Junmyeon fumbled around in his bed. His cords threatened to tangle together but he didn’t care, desperately propping himself up onto one elbow so he could reach for his nightstand, clumsy fingers blindly knocking through notepads and cups and at last found his cell phone. His battery was low and he had been told not to use it but Junmyeon didn’t care. He collapsed back into bed and squinted against the blue light splashing across his face as he switched it back on.

Of course, there was no way this was all a coincidence, that Kris had texted him.

_I didn’t see you on today’s performance. Where are you?_

_Junmyeon? Hellooo._

_Are you okay?_

His heart ached in his chest and Junmyeon’s thumbs flew across the keyboard, knowing his time was running out. Once daybreak struck, it would be over.

_Are you still awake, Kris?_

It took a few minutes, but whatever god was out there granted him his wish.

_Yea, in the studio. Late night._

_Why are you up so late? You good?_

A sob rose somewhere in Junmyeon’s throat.

_I’m really sick. I can’t speak right now…_

_I know this sounds weird, but can you please call me?_

_It’s easier than texting._

How did Kris always give him everything he wanted, except for what he really needed the most?

His phone vibrated quietly in his hand with an incoming call and Junmyeon immediately accepted it, pressing the device up to his ear. He could hear rustling on the other line, maybe some papers that Kris was tinkering with as he worked in the studio. He didn’t know, he didn’t care.

All that mattered was Kris’ voice coming through his speaker.

_“Hey, can you hear me? Wait, what am I doing, you said you can’t talk… Is your throat bothering you again? How many times do I have to tell you to take better care of your health, you know you push yourself too much as it is. Hm. I know! Kyungsoo should have some tea in the dorm, I think that would help your throat out a ton—”_

Kris’ voice was like white noise in his ears and Junmyeon could feel the wetness of tears dribbling down his cheeks, his whispers of _I love you_ unheard as the oxygen mask clasped over his face stole them away.

\--

Even if Junmyeon loved him, life went on without Kris in 2014, and life was going to march on without him in 2018.

He wanted to be angry that Kris had missed so many milestones in his life – and their life as a group – but he couldn’t be. He wanted so badly to hate him for it, for _everything_ , all the extra weight that fell on his shoulders, all the additional stress, the sadness, the _heartache._ Comebacks and stages and events and losing two additional people Junmyeon called his family and Kris wasn’t there for _any_ of that.

Exodus, Love Me Right, a Gocheok Sky Dome concert, their first Japanese single, Lightsaber, Sing For You, Ex’Act, Lotto, Coming Over, For Life, The War, Power, Countdown, Universe.

Kris missed all of it.

A multitude of broken records, achievements, incredible titles. The first to win a perfect score after credential changes, concert tickets being sold out within minutes, the label of “quadruple million seller” being plastered across their group. A sub-unit, a debut in Japan, a performance at the _Olympics._

And Kris missed all of it.

Junmyeon wanted so _badly_ to hate him for it, for not being there, for missing out on their activities and performances and leaving him so many times to pick up the pieces leftover from stress and sleepless nights. Their group had been designed to function with the two of them as leaders, two sets of shoulders to bear the load, but that wasn’t the case anymore.

_“Is there any group that has two leaders?”_

__

His smile faltered, fake and pained.

__

_“As far as I know, there’s none.”_

It was just like how he wanted to hate him for leaving when he needed him the most, back in 2014 before their solo concert, leaving their entire group scrambling and trying to relearn their performances from scratch, cutting pieces out and fixing them back together to account for Kris’ missing body and voice and leaving all of their bodies aching from work and stress.

And yet, Junmyeon couldn’t bring himself to harbor any ill feelings towards him.

Even when dawn came and he was being wheeled into the operating room, even when they hooked him up to his anesthesia, even when they told him to count backwards from ten, even when his eyes began to close and even when he began to go under the knife to partake in a surgery that was his only chance at survival…

Junmyeon couldn’t bring himself to hate him.

\--

_He was walking, warm sun on the back of his neck. He could feel a smile on his face and a blue sky was framed by palm trees. There was a crowd of boys around him and everything felt oddly happy, even though he couldn’t depict what everyone was saying. Tall socks and big 88’s plastered on the back of shirts._

_“You seem to really like Los Angeles,” the man walking beside him said. He smiled, white teeth and pink gums. “Maybe someday we can come back together.”_

_He looked so familiar but Junmyeon couldn’t put his finger on why._

Junmyeon let out a muffled cry, instantly stirring awake due to a stabbing pain in his chest. His eyes opened and he let out a grunt as he wiggled in bed, managing to haul himself to his feet. He needed his medicine. Soreness was normal; he had just underwent a major surgery only two days ago. He could grab some of his pain killers and go back to sleep.

The dorm was quiet at three AM. They were due for a comeback and everyone was tired. Junmyeon did his best to keep the noise down, tinkering around in the kitchen for a glass to get some water, managing to swallow down his medication with minimal pain. He absently traced his chest, feeling the ridges of stitches underneath the thin fabric of his old t-shirt.

He frowned.

_“What happened?” his voice was groggy. He felt so sleepy, so heavy, tubing in his nose and pierced through his hand via an IV and there was a bag hanging above his head feeding him blood. “Where am I…?”_

_“You’re in the hospital. You had an operation, remember?” Jongin said softly, one palm patting Junmyeon’s hand gently. “Don’t you remember being sick?”_

_“I was sick?” Junmyeon muttered. He wanted to go back to sleep and have some more nice dreams about the mysterious man that sat across from him drinking orange juice. “Sick with what?”_

_“Your chest, Junmyeon,” Chanyeol added, pursing his lips. “Do you remember the doctor telling you that you had something wrong with your lungs?”_

_His chest… He dwelled on it._

_“I remember my chest hurting… And I had a cough…” Junmyeon started, frowning. “But I can’t…remember when it started. Or why, or anything…”_

_“You’ve been sick for a long time, Junmyeon,” Minseok murmured. “But it’s okay now. You’re all better.”_

_“What exactly was wrong with me?” Junmyeon asked, a pinch of panic painting his voice. “Why can’t I remember?”_

_The others exchanged glances for a moment before Kyungsoo spoke up._

_“You had something growing in your chest that was making you sick,” he said, gently depositing Junmyeon’s phone onto the nightstand. It hadn’t been allowed in the operating room, but with Junmyeon now in recovery, he could have it back, “but it’s gone now. You’ll be all better from here on, okay? Relax now, you need your rest.”_

_And Junmyeon accepted it as an answer, never seeing the mess of bloodied irises and flower roots in the garbage bin._

Junmyeon set the glass down on the counter and slowly headed back for his room, tracing the line of stitching on his chest.

Why couldn’t he remember?

\--

He woke to his phone vibrating on his nightstand.

Junmyeon let out a groan of protest, eyes still closed as he blindly fumbled around for his phone. The buzzing was so annoying and he just wanted it to stop. He was off for the day, mandatory, his body desperately needing more down time to let him heal from such a major surgery.

“Hello?” he mumbled, voice groggy with sleep.

_“Hey.”_ A man’s voice, whining on the other end of the line. Junmyeon sleepily cracked his eyes open, brow pinching in confusion. _“What gives? I’ve been trying to text you for days but you left our Kakao chatroom!”_

Junmyeon frowned. It made no sense. Only he and his band members had a chatroom. “Who is this?”

_“Are you serious? It’s me,”_ the man continued, frustration in his voice, _“Kris?”_

“I don’t know a Kris,” Junmyeon said, wondering how on earth a stranger had gotten his number, or why his voice sounded so familiar.

_“What the hell are you talking about? Junmyeon, it’s_ me _,”_ he repeated, the sound of his name rolling off the man’s tongue sounding oddly perfect.

“Listen, I don’t know how you got my number,” Junmyeon started, feeling a little spooked. This had to be a sasaeng. What other kind of person would call random numbers demanding to be spoken to like this? “But I want you to stop contacting me. I don’t know you. Do not call me again.”

He hung up. His phone immediately started to vibrate again. Irritated at this point, Junmyeon tinkered with his phone, setting it to do not disturb for the time being, before chucking it back onto his nightstand. His head immediately hit the pillow again and he burrowed beneath his comforter, intending to go back to sleep. He’d block the number later after some more rest.

He needed all the sleep he could get. Even if he was missing out on the morning schedule and performance, he still wanted to pull his weight. Maybe he could help Kyungsoo make dinner for the guys when everyone came home later.

His eyes closed, his breathing shallowed, his mind relaxed under the calming wave of slumber.

All that he wanted was to felt better soon.

Life would march on with or without him.

And as he began to fall asleep, he saw the flash of a face somewhere in his mind. Messy black hair and dark glimmering eyes and Junmyeon wondered where he had seen him before.

He had no idea.


End file.
